


The Sound of Retribution

by Hazel_Athena



Series: LMTTG 'Verse [4]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Established Relationship, Everybody Lives, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-06 22:44:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12827709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hazel_Athena/pseuds/Hazel_Athena
Summary: Faraday frowns mulishly. "It's still fuckin' stupid. If you get yourself arrested and executed again, I'm never goin' to forgive you."





	The Sound of Retribution

**Author's Note:**

> The long-promised outtake where the Sheriff who sends Vasquez to the compound gets what's coming to him. More so than most of my fics in this verse, this one will make ZERO sense if you haven't read Lead Me to the Gallows.

"You're doing it again."

Vasquez sighs as he looks up from the piece of wood he's been slowly carving into shape, his attention now grabbed by the way Faraday's pacing back and forth along the length of their room, his steps becoming increasingly agitated as he gets lost in his own head. "Joshua. Stop."

Turning around at the sound of his given name, Faraday makes a confused noise, like he can't figure out why Vasquez is speaking to him. He's been out of sorts since they'd slunk into town the night before, his behaviour somewhat akin to that of a caged animal. "What was that, Vas?"

Biting back another sigh, Vasquez sets his materials aside and beckons to Faraday with his now free hands. "You are getting worked up again, and it's no good. Come here."

Gesturing emphatically, he catches Faraday's eye, refusing to break his gaze until the other man starts moving towards him. Pleased, he settles back against the pillows he'd previously been leaning on, grabbing for Faraday as soon as he's within reach. "That's better," he says as his fingers catch on the fabric of Faraday's vest, digging into the worn material for purchase. "Come sit with me."

"I don’t want to sit. I don't get how you can be so damned calm," Faraday complains, even as he parks himself mostly on top of Vasquez, straddling his waist with his not inconsiderable bulk. "This is one of the stupidest things we have ever done, and that's sayin' somethin'."

"It isn't," Vasquez disagrees. Moving his hand up, he rests his palm over the curve of Faraday's neck, scraping lightly at his nape with blunt fingernails. "What would have been stupid would be if I had gone with Sam and Goodnight to see the Marshals. This is just slightly risky." 

Faraday snorts forcefully enough that they both rock a bit on the bed, the sound making his thoughts on the matter clear. "We're up and tellin' the most powerful legal body in the area that you, a wanted felon, are not nearly as dead as they've been led to believe _and_ that you're nearby. I know Sam's not gonna tell 'em exactly where we are unless they agree to pardon you first, but it's still fuckin' insane."

"Not if we want to be able to go after those sheriffs it isn't," Vasquez reminds him. Hoping it'll help calm him, he starts stroking his hand through Faraday's hair, willing the motion to soothe some of the man's fears away. "You know the Marshals won't believe what they were doing without proof."

"And that proof has to be you?" Apparently unwilling to be mollified in any way, Faraday pulls his head back before rolling off Vasquez altogether. Flopping over on his back, he stares up at the ceiling like he can somehow find the answer to his problems there. 

"You know it does," Vasquez says after the silence has stretched on for well over a minute. He shifts around until he's on his side and can lift himself up on one elbow. Looking down at Faraday, he does his best to sound convincing. "They will need someone who escaped the compound to support the story. I'm the only one here."

Rather than deny this to be true, Faraday frowns mulishly. "It's still fuckin' stupid. If you get yourself arrested and executed again, I'm never goin' to forgive you."

Vasquez hums as he considers this. "That's fair," he decides, "but I'm sure it won't come to that. Sam would never let that happen. _You_ would never let that happen."

"Hmmph," Faraday says helpfully, but he makes no further protest when Vasquez leans down to kiss him. As distractions go it's not a bad one. Vasquez has always been willing to play dirty when the situation calls for it, and when it’s something he never gets tired of doing on top of that? Well, all the better then.

*****

The knock they've been waiting on comes a few hours later, accompanied by a familiar voice telling them to open up. Vasquez moves to do just that, only to be waved back into his seat by Faraday, who reaches for his gun belt as he stands.

"Guero, it's Sam," Vasquez hisses, concerned by this sudden onset of paranoia. "You are being ridiculous."

Faraday shoots him a look that says he highly disagrees, and proceeds to rest his hand over the butt of his beloved Maria as he tugs the door open. He makes no move to open it all the way, deliberately arranging himself so that he takes up all the space in the doorway.

"Chisolm," he says in a clipped voice that, along with the tensing line of his back, sends warning bells tolling in Vasquez's head. "Who's your friend?"

Faraday's position means that Vasquez can't actually see their intrepid leader, but he can hear him without issue. "Steady, Faraday," Sam says in that calming way of his. "We're all on the same side here."

"Hmmph," it's clear from the sound he makes that Faraday's not sure he agrees with this declaration, but his shoulders relax minutely and he steps back far enough to let the door swing all the way open so the new arrivals can enter the room. 

Sam looks the same as he always does, cool and collected to the point that no one would ever guess he's spent the day parlaying with local law enforcement who have no reason to trust him. It's his companion therefore who catches Vasquez's eye.

He's a tall man, almost as tall as Vasquez himself, and powerfully built. A full beard covers the lower half of his face, the lowest strands of it almost meeting the collar of his US Marshal's uniform. The uniform, Vasquez notes, that would be the most striking thing about him if it weren't for the empty holster resting on his hip.

"Gentlemen," the Marshal says affably as the door closes behind him. "I'm told you've come to offer me your assistance with a problem I didn't know I had."

"Might be that's the case," Faraday says gruffly. He's planted himself between the newcomer and the spot where Vasquez is still sitting on the bed, making it evident with his posture that he doesn't like what's happening. "How nice we're willin' to play is goin’ to depend on you though."

The Marshal gives him a long look before he flashing a wry twist of his lips, and turning to catch Sam's eye. "You know," he says slowly, "based on your story I figured it'd be the wanted man who'd give me more trouble for bein' here, not whichever one this is."

Sam's answering response is equally dry. "You'd maybe think so, but I can tell you from personal experience that these two rarely do what's expected of them. Meet my associates, Joshua Faraday and Alejandro Vasquez. Boys, this is US Marshal, Michael Donahue. Play nice."

"Is the warning really necessary?" Donahue asks lowly.

"Depends on which one you're dealing with," San replies. "Except in rare circumstances, Vasquez doesn't usually cause much trouble. Faraday's more hit or miss."

Donahue makes a questionable noise at this before focusing his attention solely on Vasquez. "I see. Well, I suppose there's no point in beatin' around the bush then. Mr. Vasquez, there's a signed letter of execution on my desk that says you're supposed to be dead. Care to explain why that's not the case?"

Neither Sam nor Donahue is fast enough to stop Faraday when he reaches for his gun, but Vasquez had been expecting something like this and snaps a hand out to curl around the other man's wrist before he manages to fully grip the damned revolver. A couple tense seconds tick by, and then Vasquez forcefully moves Faraday's hand away from his belt.

"Do not mind him," he says, shooting Faraday a look that in no uncertain terms tells him to behave. "He's been cooped up in here all day. Makes him jumpy." 

He doesn't add that Faraday's confinement had been self-imposed, arising out of an adamant refusal to leave Vasquez alone while he'd needed to stay out of sight. The Marshal has no reason to know that.

Donahue's smile tightens, but seems to nevertheless remain genuine. Raising his arms, he gives them all a clear view of his empty gun holsters and bare hands. "I'm not here to pick a fight, boys. All I'm after is a spot of polite conversation."

Faraday grunts at this, but thankfully keeps his hands to himself. "It ain't the here and now I'm worried about," he says bluntly. "It's what you do after we've had our little chat that concerns me."

"I figured that might be the case," Donahue replies. Lowering his hands he reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls free a folded piece of paper. "That's why I brought you this."

He offers it first to Faraday, who gives him a look that suggests he's going to get bitten if he comes any closer, and then to Vasquez, who takes it. "The ink might still be a bit damp on account of how it was just whipped up, but it should make it clear where I stand."

Vasquez cautiously unfolds the paper, giving it a cursory skim once it's open. He picks out his own name and the words 'full pardon', at which point the weight of what he's holding starts to dawn on him. Clearing his throat heavily, he moves the paper up for Faraday to see. "It's good, guero. All good."

Faraday cranes his neck to take a look, his lips moving silently while he reads. Some of the tension noticeably bleeds out of him when he gets to the important details, but Vasquez can tell he's still on edge. "This is legitimate?" He asks, straightening back up to his full height.

"It is," Donahue assures him. "Completely official and it'll hold up in any state. The only thing it's missin' is his first name because that wasn't on the original warrant. I didn't see any reason to borrow trouble there."

"Hmm." Faraday makes a thoughtful noise, and proceeds to surprise everyone in the room by sitting down next to Vasquez on the bed. Gesturing at the two wooden chairs in the far corner, he motions for Sam and Donahue to grab them. "I reckon you folks may as well have a seat then."

There's a very strong part of Vasquez that wants to place a comforting hand on Faraday's back, but that's unwise given Donahue's presence. He settles for a quick bump of their shoulders together while their companions have their backs turned, earning himself a fleeting smile in response.

"So," Donahue says after he's pulled a chair over and dropped into it. "Sam here tells me you lot have had quite the adventure of late. Want to tell me a bit about it?"

"I'm not sure I would call it an adventure," Vasquez says flatly, "but if you want to hear it, we will tell you."

Donahue makes an encouraging motion with his hand, leaning back in his seat when Vasquez starts to speak. He sits attentively through the story, somewhat abridged since Vasquez knows Sam would've already told him the highlights, not stopping to ask questions until the whole tale is out. 

"It's a hell of a job," he says when Vasquez finally pauses. "Honestly, I'm not sure I'd believe it if it weren't for the fact that we'd been hearin' rumours about William Rask for the past little while. Rumours that said he wasn't exactly on the up and up if you catch my meaning. He's dead, I take it?"

Vasquez and Faraday share a look. "He is," Vasquez says in the end. "One of the escaped prisoners got him."

Donahue gives him a knowing smile. "And I'll just bet you've conveniently got no idea which one it was, right?"

Since he's got no desire to earn himself a second warrant, and it'd been him who'd put a bullet between Rask's eyes, Vasquez shrugs. "It was a hectic situation," he says blandly. "Very hard to tell who was doing what."

"Uh huh," Donahue drawls. It's clear he has his suspicions as to what happened, but it doesn't seem like he's going to push without proof. Instead, he straightens his shoulders and gives Vasquez a measured look. "I feel as if you're owed an apology. While I ain't about to touch on whether or not it's fair to condemn a convicted man, the fact of the matter is what happened to you wasn't right."

"You don't say," Faraday mutters, wincing when Vasquez elbows him sharply in the ribs. "Hey!"

"Quiet, Joshua," Vasquez tells him. Shifting his eyes away from where Faraday's sulkily rubbing his side, he meets Donahue's gaze without flinching. "What's done is done, amigo. I just want the men who helped Rask dealt with."

"Right," Donahue agrees, returning quickly to the matter at hand. "Sam says you've got the names of all the sheriffs who were feedin' him prisoners. I looked ‘em over. They’re all sheriffs from a bunch of the surrounding towns sure enough."

"Sí, we know." Vasquez replies. "I spoke to each of the escapees before moving on. We think we have all the names."

"You've got one from right nearby, that's for sure," Donahue acknowledges. "That bein' the name gracin' the paperwork I was sent sayin' you'd been hung and buried several months back."

This time Vasquez gives into the urge to place a hand on Faraday when he tenses. Curling his fingers over one broad shoulder, he keeps them there while the other man calms. "Sí," he says again. "One name I would very much like to deal with personally."

"Funny you should say that." Leaning forward in his seat, Donahue shares a conspiratorial wink with Sam before returning his attention to Vasquez. "I don't just sign off on pardons. As it happens, I do warrants as well."

"That he does," Sam says lazily, speaking up for the first time in a while as he scuffs the toe of one boot over the roughhewn floorboards. "And it just might be I've got copies of six brand new ones sittin' in my bags right now."

"They're all perfectly official," Donahue continues on. "The only thing is, we're talkin' about a bunch of sheriffs here, boys. You might want to be careful about how you approach bringin' them in."

"You just let us worry about that," Sam says before either Faraday or Vasquez has a chance to speak. "We've got a good crew with us. It won't be a problem."

"Then I'll leave you to it." Standing, Donahue brushes imaginary flecks of dirt from his pants and places the hat he'd come in carrying atop his head. "Just give me a holler if you bring anyone in alive. I'll do what needs to be done."

He's gone with a final nod, leaving the three of them remaining in the room. 

"Well," Sam says brightly as the door closes behind him with a snap. "I told you two everything would be fine."

Faraday makes a long, drawn out noise of discontent that has both Vasquez and Sam rolling their eyes. "There wasn't any need of it," he protests. "We could've just got Greer alone and shot him in the head," he adds, referring to the lawman who'd sent Vasquez to the labour camp in the first place.

"So you keep saying," Sam reminds him, "but while that might be true, this way works better. Vasquez is in the clear, and we won't have to worry about anyone comin' for us if word gets out as to who's gunnin' for a bunch of small town sheriffs."

"How did you convince him to do this?" Holding up the pardon effectively cuts off whatever other comments Faraday has brewing, and Vasquez truly wants to know how Sam managed to obtain it. "I have to be honest, I didn't really think you would come back with such a thing."

"That's because livin' on the edge for so long has turned you into a mistrustful sort," Sam says. "I told him the truth, Vasquez, all of it. Both what you've been through, and what you did to get the damned warrant on your head in the first place. Between that, tellin' him about Rose Creek, and the way both Goody and I were there vouchin' for you - it did the trick."

"Also," he adds slowly, "I was offering him six men for the price of one. He's got a bunch of corrupt sheriffs that need dealin' with, and our willingness to do the dirty work appealed to him. Add it all together, and he was fine to look the other way where you're concerned."

Vasquez fiddles with the pardon again; still unable to fully grasp what it is he has in his hands. He clears his throat a little roughly, suddenly feeling an urge for privacy. "We'll leave soon to go after Greer, yes?"

Sam nods. "I figure there's no time like the present. We're a few days ride away, so may as well leave first thing in the morning."

"And on that note," he continues while Vasquez is still trying to think of a polite way to ask him to leave, "I should probably grab some supper and then get my head down. It's been a long day. You boys eat yet?"

Vasquez jerks his head towards the table where a pair of empty plates are stacked on top of each other. "A little before you and the Marshal arrived. Somebody insisted on eating in here so no one would see me."

"Forgive me for bein' concerned," Faraday mutters darkly. "This place is crawling with officers, and all it'd've taken would be one gettin' a good look at you and thinkin' you looked an awful lot like, well, you."

"Sí, sí, guero, I appreciate your actions, I promise." Since it's only Sam to witness it now, Vasquez runs a hand in soothing circles over Faraday's back. "I meant it only as a statement of fact."

"Fine," Faraday grumbles, and across the room, Sam gives them both an inscrutable look.

"Like I said, I need to get myself settled in for night. You boys'll be good to go in the mornin' though?" At their matching nods, he makes a pleased noise and climbs to his feet. "Good enough. I'll see you both tomorrow."

"We could go down to the saloon," Vasquez suggests when he's gone. "Have a drink, maybe play a few rounds of cards now we know the coast is clear. That always cheers you up."

"That what you want to do?" Faraday asks skeptically.

Vasquez thinks it over. "Not really," he admits. Smoothing the now slightly crumpled pardon out over his lap, he reads it again, taking care this time to commit the wording to memory. None of it feels real. "I don't know what to do with this."

"We should put it somewhere safe," Faraday suggests. "Maybe get it a waterproof case or somethin' to make sure it doesn't get ruined."

"That's not exactly what I meant, Joshua," Vasquez informs him.

"I know," Faraday replies. Leaning over, he tugs the paper out of Vasquez's hands, staring down at it like it's some kind of mystery that needs solving. "Hard to believe somethin' as simple as this could cause all the trouble we've been through."

"Technically that was the warrant," Vasquez points out. "This one is meant to fix the problems the first one caused."

"Yeah, yeah." Standing unexpectedly, Faraday carries the pardon over to the table, laying it out flat next to the abandoned dishes where it won't be at risk of getting damaged. "It can stay here for now."

"And are we also staying here?" Vasquez asks. "Or was that a yes to the saloon?"

"Nah," Faraday replies easily. Coming back across the room, he sits on the edge of the bed and begins unlacing his boots. "You didn't sound overly enthusiastic about the idea, and truth be told I'd rather have you to myself tonight."

"Oh you would, would you?" Vasquez asks, feeling the corners of his mouth turn up in a grin without his permission. If anyone had told him before they'd started this thing between them that Joshua Faraday would prove to be an overly affectionate lover, he doubts he'd have believed them. However, he happens to be just that, and Vasquez thoroughly enjoys basking in it whatever chance he gets. "Why don't you get up here and show me how much?"

"If you insist." His boots out of the way, Faraday scrambles up the bed until he's in position to shove Vasquez back into the pillows, following him down with ease. "How's this for a start?" He asks, right before sealing their mouths together.

Vasquez kisses him back hungrily, spurred on in part by an odd thrumming in his veins that leaves him unable to sit still. Hooking his legs around Faraday's waist, he rolls them both so he's the one on top, laughing as he pulls back to find Faraday staring up at him with a disgruntled look on his face. "So grumpy, guerito. Would you prefer it if I moved away?"

Faraday makes a show of thinking it over, but soon shakes his head in denial. "Obviously not," he says firmly. "Get down here and kiss me, you Mexican ingrate."

Vasquez's laugh deepens. "Such romance," he chuckles. "I don't know how I resisted you for so long with charm like that."

"Clearly you just ain't that bright," Faraday says loftily. He brings a hand up, and starts tracing a pattern on Vasquez's thigh with one finger. "Don't worry though, you're more than pretty enough to make up for whatever else you're lackin' in brains."

Rolling his eyes heavenward, Vasquez resolves then and there to reduce Faraday to the point where he's unable to make anymore obnoxious quips for the night. It's the kind of challenge he enjoys, and is one he's never failed to win in the end.

"Hush, guero. I can think of better things for your mouth to be doing now."

His eyes bright, Faraday laughs but makes no further protests.

*****

Vasquez wakes the next morning in his usual spot, sprawled all over Faraday and tangled in blankets. Kicking free of those, he sits up with a yawn, noting that there's sunlight filtering in through the crack in the curtains.

Reaching down, he pokes at Faraday's face in an attempt to prod him into wakefulness. "Guero, get up. It's morning. Time for us to be leaving."

Slapping Vasquez's hand away, Faraday makes an annoyed noise, and stubbornly refuses to open his eyes. "S'too early," he mutters tiredly. "Go back to sleep, Vas. Sam'll send someone to get us when we need to be movin'."

Undeterred, Vasquez pokes him a few more times, and then proceeds to climb out of bed, dragging the blankets with him. "Come on, Joshua. Up!"

"Aww, Vasss." Groaning, Faraday rolls onto his side with a discontented huff. Propping himself up on one elbow, he pouts dramatically, seemingly indifferent to the fact that he's completely naked and open for anyone who walks in to see. "What's the rush?"

Dumping his armful of blankets on the floor, Vasquez roots around in his bag for clean clothes. Pulling free his favorite pants and a shirt he's pretty sure belongs to Faraday, he starts getting dressed. "The sooner we leave, the sooner we can find Greer and take him down. Don't you want that?"

"'Course I do," Faraday says, still making no move to get up, "but it's the ass crack of dawn right now, and I don't see why we can't take our time. We've got a warrant with the bastard's name on it, while he's got no idea we're comin' for him. Relax."

"You were not so calm last night," Vasquez points out, feeling suspicious. "What's changed?"

 "Mainly exhaustion," Faraday replies around a tired yawn. "I can get upset again once I wake up if you like."

Vasquez makes a displeased noise and wanders back to the bed to sit down. "That is not at all what I want," he says firmly, reaching out to brush a stray auburn curl out of Faraday's eyes. "This is a good thing, querido. We're going to stop him from hurting anyone else."

"Yeah," Faraday says softly. "Guess I can't be mad about that. And hey, you're free for real now. That's great."

"Mmm." Vasquez hums contentedly as Faraday reaches up a hand to start carding it through his hair. "I'm not sure how I feel about it, to be honest. I suspect it will take some getting used to."

"That's understandable," Faraday says. Struggling into a sitting position, he leans forward until they can rest their foreheads together, his hand dropping down to curve over Vasquez's cheek. "You're still goin' to be careful though, right? Fuck knows there's enough idiots out there who'll still make a go at you even with the pardon."

"I'll be careful," Vasquez promises, unable to keep from smiling stupidly when Faraday nuzzles at the side of his face. "Guerito, we don't have time for this. You need to get dressed."

"I can't," Faraday says, pulling back with a grin. "You stole my shirt."

Vasquez pointedly adjusts the hem of the purloined shirt, but makes no move to relinquish it. "I like this shirt. It's comfortable."

"It's too big for you," Faraday snorts. "You're still too damn skinny."

"Then you should get up and help me get some breakfast, shouldn't you?" Vasquez suggests. “Fatten me up.”

Faraday rolls his eyes, but does eventually start moving. It doesn't take him long to dress, and when they emerge from the room they nearly collide with Goodnight and Billy who're fully dressed and making their way down the hall, no doubt also in search of food.

"Mornin' boys," Goodnight says, while behind him Billy dips his head in a silent greeting. "All set to hit the road soon?"

"Apparently," Faraday replies. Jerking a thumb in Vasquez's direction, he adds, "This one's awful antsy to track down a certain jackass of a sheriff and give him a rude awakening."

"I rather thought he might be." Winking at Vasquez, he asks innocently, "Did you like the present Sam and I brought back for you last night?"

"Sí, amigo," Vasquez says appreciatively, "and Joshua did too, even if he won't say so."

Goodnight laughs and claps him on the shoulder, unbothered. "I've learned to read him well enough over the course of our acquaintance. Don't worry about it. Now then, let's get some breakfast, and then we can be on our way."

The remainder of their crew are already grouped at one of the tables downstairs in the boarding house, and all three, Red Harvest included, are partway through their meals. 

"Figured you boys'd be down soon," Sam says as they approach. He flaps a hand at four empty seats, each of them with a full plate of food and mugs off coffee resting in front of them. "We grabbed enough for everybody."

"And that's why you're in charge, Sam," Goodnight says as he claims a seat. Next to him, Billy drops into a chair and begins eagerly digging into the meal without a word. "You're always looking out for everyone. It's enough to bring a tear to my eye."

Sam makes a pained expression. "Goody, shut up and eat."

Chuckles sounds out among the table as they all settle in for the meal, but one voice is conspicuously absent. Not wanting to attract attention by looking over, Vasquez nudges Faraday's foot with his own, relieved when the other man doesn't shy away from his touch. This will not necessarily be an enjoyable mission, but, Vasquez thinks as Faraday's hand rests briefly on his thigh under the table, it will leave them better off in the long run.

*****

The journey passes in a blur, and before Vasquez knows it it's the evening of the fourth day and they're camped on the outskirts of the town that's been their destination this whole time. If they'd wanted they could've gone all the way in and rented themselves some rooms, but the collective decision had been made to stay outside for the night in order to avoid tipping off Greer to their presence.

"Wish we knew how tomorrow was goin' to go down," Faraday remarks as he lays out his bedroll when it's time to turn in for the night. 

"Hmm?" Already ensconced in the depths of his own blanket, Vasquez shuffles over slightly as Faraday curls up behind him, letting out a pleased noise when a heavy arm drapes around his midsection to drag him in close. "Guerito."

"Not a word," Faraday grumbles, pressing a kiss to the hinge of Vasquez's jaw. "You know you'll sleep better this way."

He will too, Vasquez sees no shame in admitting as much. It's just odd to have Faraday be so blatant in his affections out in the open. Usually he's a bit more reserved where people can see them, saving his more blatant touches for when they’re behind closed doors, though Vasquez supposes the rest of their friends hardly count.

"Are you worried about tomorrow?" He asks, not missing the way Faraday's grip tightens at his question. He figures that's as good a yes as any.

"Might be I'm mildly concerned," Faraday says eventually. "Who knows how Greer's going to react when he sees us comin'? Cornered animals are more likely to fight then not."

Vasquez brings his own hand up to lace their fingers together, pleased when Faraday accepts the touch without protest. "Even if he fights, what good will it do? Between the seven of us he's no threat."

"I guess," Faraday says dubiously. 

"Trust me," Vasquez insists. "It will be fine." Rolling over is somewhat difficult thanks to Faraday's hold, but he decides he'd rather be face to face right now so he does it anyway, burrowing into Faraday's broad chest and letting out a contented hum as sounds of the night echo around them. 

"You worry too much," he murmurs quietly.

Faraday snorts harshly at this, the sound loud enough that Vasquez is surprised it doesn't disturb one or more of their fellows. "The last time you were in this town it was to be executed. If anythin' I'm not worryin' enough."

His voice is ragged, fraught with a mixture of pain, fear, and guilt, the likes of which serve as a stark reminder that he's yet to forgive himself for Vasquez getting caught by bounty hunters in the first place. Never mind that it'd in no way been his fault, Faraday's determined to shoulder the blame for that mess regardless of what anybody says. 

Knowing there's very little he can do to stop that - repeated assurances on his part have done approximately nothing to change how Faraday feels - Vasquez simply stays curled against him, hoping the simple fact that he's here and alive will help. 

Perhaps it does because Faraday eventually settles. His breathing evens out, and he makes a soft apologetic sound as if to ask for forgiveness for being out of sorts. Sometimes Vasquez despairs of him.

"Can you do me a favour?" Faraday asks unexpectedly, and Vasquez perks up at the chance to possibly make his partner feel a little better about everything.

"Sí, cariño," he says quickly. "Anything."

Faraday huffs out a laugh at this, no doubt able to read between the lines and suss out the source of Vasquez's willingness to play nice. "Stick to the middle of the pack when we head in town tomorrow. I know it's unlikely that anyone outside of the sheriff or his deputies'll recognize you, but it'd ease my mind a bit knowin' you were covered on all sides."

"I don't need to be coddled," Vasquez grumps, "but," he's quick to add at Faraday's sharp intake of breath, "if it will help, I'll do it. You have my word."

"Thanks," Faraday says sounding relieved. 

Since an assurance that he'd do it anytime would only sit poorly with Faraday, Vasquez keeps quiet and waits for sleep to claim him. Tomorrow is going to be a busy day, and they'll both need to be at their best.

*****

The following morning sees Vasquez wake much the same way he'd gone to sleep - wrapped up in Faraday's arms, and with his face mashed into the other man's chest. It's a surprisingly comfortable position, but he could do without the way Red is currently looming above the pair of them, drawing his foot back in a way that suggests he's about to catch Faraday in the shoulder with his boot.

"You do that again and I'm gonna rip your entire leg off," a tired voice groans, and when Vasquez lifts his head he finds that Faraday's awake and glaring at Red through slitted eyes, only the merest hint of green visible through the lids. "I mean it, Red. Fuck off; it's too early for this bullshit."

"It's always too early for you," Red mutters. "Sam sent me to wake you. He says it's time to break camp."

"Well who died and put him in charge?" Faraday demands, but he's talking to empty air. Job done, Red turns on his heel and strides back in the direction of the main camp where the noise of the others waking to greet the day can be heard. It sounds like they're the last ones up. 

"Come on, guero. Up you get." Giving Faraday a light slap on the shoulder, Vasquez moves to disentangle himself from the other man, only to find himself tugged backwards as he tries to rise. "Joshua, what?"

He's cut off abruptly by Faraday's mouth closing over his own, the desperate, needy kiss startling him with its intensity and sending all other thoughts flying out of his head. It's only when Faraday pulls back without warning that he even realizes what's happening.

"And good morning to you too," he starts to quip, only to freeze when he sees the look on Faraday's face. "Guerito," he says kindly, stroking a hand over Faraday's cheek to try and ease some of the worry away. "Everything will be fine."

"'Course it will," Faraday says in a voice full of false cheer. He plasters a smile Vasquez doesn't trust for a minute on his face, and shoves their combined blankets back. "Time for breakfast."

Breakfast is a quick affair, and then there's a brief session where they run through the day's expected events again. Weapons are checked and loaded, horses mounted, and the trail hit in quick succession.

Vasquez stays true to his word and keeps himself in the middle of the pack, riding sandwiched in between Red and Faraday while Sam and Jack go on ahead and Goodnight and Billy bring up the rear. It no doubt looks a little ridiculous, but a promise is a promise and this isn't one he's about to break.

There aren't many people awake yet at this hour, but those that are stop and stare as they ride past. Luckily, however, no one seems to be eyeing Vasquez specifically. They all just seem entranced by the sight of seven heavily armed men riding through their sleepy little town. 

The sheriff's station appears in front of them not long after they enter the town, and Vasquez feels an unpleasant feeling stir in the pit of his stomach as he gets a good look at the place he'd once expected to die in. Sternly reminding himself that no such thing is going to happen today, he steers his horse in that direction, pulling up and dismounting along with the others.

"Alright," Sam says once everybody's down on the ground. "Jack and I'll go see if Greer's in. The rest of you wait here like we planned."

Faraday comes to hover at Vasquez's side when Sam and Jack move off. His hands rest none too subtlety above his guns, but he's hardly the only one who's on edge. Both Red and Billy's fingers twitch with the intent to grab for blades at the earliest need, and Goodnight's holding his rifle across his chest rather than slung over his shoulder the way he normally does when relaxed.

For his part, Vasquez wishes they weren't all so blatantly coiled up and ready to spring, but his own fingers itch with an urge to pull his pistols - a pair obtained in Rose Creek but nowhere near as nice as his old ones - from their holsters, so he supposes he can't say much.

Around them the town is slowly starting to show more signs of life, but the men and women who are out and about hurry past them without making eye contact. There's a feeling of tension brewing in the air, one indicating something's bound to snap in short order.

The minutes slowly tick past, and then Sam and Jack re-emerge from the station with a third man sandwiched in between them. Vasquez's breath hitches slightly when he sees the uniform, only to slow down almost right away when he realizes it's not Greer they've found. This man is considerably younger; a deputy Vasquez vaguely recalls seeing during his stint in the jail cell.

"He's running," Sam says before anyone else can say a word. He gestures to the deputy where the younger man is standing beside him wearing a guilty expression. "Oland here says a letter arrived at the station yesterday evening, one that spooked Greer something bad, and then he didn't show up for work this morning."

Vasquez makes a frustrated noise at this news, but it pales in comparison to the savage sound Faraday lets out. "You think the Marshals warned him?" The man demands, his temper flaring noticeably.

"No," Sam replies, shaking his head. "Oland saw the envelope before it was opened."

"It came from Harris City," the deputy says quietly. He's standing a little back from their crew, pointedly not meeting anyone's gaze as he speaks. "First word we've had from there in a while."

"He knows Rask's dead," Goodnight says now, following the path of what news the letter contained to its logical conclusion quicker than anybody else. "Son a whore, what kind of damnable timing is that?"

Faraday's growling ratchets up another notch, and he furiously clenches his hands into fists. "I am gettin' _damn_ tired of always showin' up a day late where this rat-faced bastard is concerned. Where would he go?"

This last line is directed at Oland, who jumps and pales at the same time. "I don't know," he says, swallowing heavily when Faraday takes a step towards him. "Honest! I reckon he'd go home first to pack some gear, but after that I've got no idea."

He raises his hands defensively as Faraday takes another measured step, and Vasquez figures he'd better cut in before someone gets hurt. Wanting to avoid this particular bloodshed, he grabs Faraday by his vest and hauls him back. "Guero, no."

Furious green eyes bore into him as Faraday jerks his head around, but Vasquez stands firm. Shaking his head, he pulls Faraday back further until they're standing side by side. "We didn't come here for this boy. He's not worth the trouble."

Oland flinches at this, his cheeks colouring, but with shame Vasquez thinks, as opposed to with anger. This must be the one then who'd first told Sam and Jack where to find him, the one who'd had second thoughts about what he'd done, but not enough to stop himself from doing it. 

"Tell us where the sheriff lives," Vasquez says now. "That will be a place to start looking."

"I can show you," Oland says, and for the first time he looks Vasquez directly in the eye. There's shame there alright, but also possibly a willingness to make up for what he and his people have done. "It'll be quicker."

"You heard the man," Sam says before anyone else can speak. "Hurry it up, boys. We're going to have a problem if Greer’s gotten very far.”

It turns out Greer doesn’t own property, but rather rents a room out above one of the local shops. The building’s not that far away from the sheriff's station, although it’s far enough that it’s impossible to see one building from the other, and the shopkeeper is just setting up for the day as they arrive.

The poor man makes a confused noise as the approach, looking mildly alarmed. “Deputy,” he says, catching sight of Oland. “Can I help you gentlemen with something?”

“That depends, Jim. Have you seen Sheriff Greer yet this morning?” Oland’s tone is bland as he speaks, seemingly indifferent, but there’s no way the shopkeeper isn’t somewhat suspicious at the sight of so many strange, heavily armed men arriving on his doorstep without warning.

“Can’t say that I have,” the man says now, “but then again I usually don’t. Most days he’s up and gone to work long before I open up. Why do you ask?”

“It’s complicated,” Oland says, not getting into details, which is something Vasquez at least is in favour of. “You mind if we come up and have a look around?”

The shopkeeper’s eyes narrow, but he glances pointedly around their group, no doubt taking in the sight of all the weapons prominently on display. “I don’t imagine I could stop you even if I did say no,” he decides. “Go on up. It's a small space, though. I doubt you'll all fit.”

"Which would be why we're not all going," Sam declares. Jerking a finger at the deputy, he motions towards the open door and the set of stairs they can all see inside. "You're with me. Everyone else can stay outside."

Sam heads up the stairs with Oland on his heels, while the shopkeeper disappears into the recesses of his store, effectively leaving the rest of them to their own devices.

"We should try tracking him down," Red says as the sound of footsteps fades into the distance. He shrugs when everyone else turns to look at him. "If the store owner hasn't seen him, he's already left. We should search before the trail goes cold."

"We're in the middle of town," Goodnight points out. "Even you'll have trouble finding a trail in a mess like this, and the same goes for Jack, I'm sure."

"That doesn't mean it can't be done," Red replies. "Besides, there are only so many places he would go."

"Those being?" Goodnight asks skeptically.

"The stables," Faraday says before Red can answer. He shrugs when they all turn to look at him. "He can't be stupid enough to try and get away on foot. He'll need to travel on horseback."

"Sam's not going to want us to split up," Goodnight points out. "As you'll recall, he specifically told us to wait here no more than five minutes ago."

"Then you and Billy wait here to tell him where we've gone," Jack suggests, sounding far more commanding than he usually does. "The rest of us will just go and have a look. That's it."

Looking somewhat taken aback, Goodnight nevertheless nods and gives a little two fingered wave as they separate, with Jack and Red taking the lead while Vasquez and Faraday follow behind them.

"You think he's still in town?" Faraday murmurs low in Vasquez's ear as they walk. His guns are still holstered, but his hands are twitching in the way they do when he's itching to draw.

"Yes," Vasquez says simply, his eyes roaming around to survey the surrounding area. There are a number of side streets that someone might approach them from, and he wants to be wary. "Don't you?"

Faraday makes an agreeing noise. "He only got the letter last night. That'd've been after he'd worked all day, so he'd've been tired. If it were me, I'd take the rest of the evenin' to pack and plan. Then I'd get a decent night's sleep and sneak away early in the morning. He doesn't know we're comin' for him today, and he's got no reason to be afraid of any of the locals. He thinks he can take his time."

"Take his time, yes," Vasquez replies, "but also maybe make a point to stay as out of sight as possible. Look." Pointing surreptitiously down one of the side streets, he indicates a hunched figured sidling along with a pack slung over one shoulder and a hat pulled down low to obscure its face. "What do you think?"

"I think we might've just found our missin' sheriff." Grabbing Vasquez by the elbow, Faraday drags them both back until they're away from that particular side street. The motion catches Red and Jack's attention, causing them both to turn around and look from where they've now moved even further away.

Not saying anything, Faraday jerks his head towards where they'd spotted their likely quarry. Motioning with his free hand, he indicates that Red and Jack should swing around from one of the other streets up ahead, meaning they'll be able to effectively pin Greer in before he spots them.

Red nods to show he understands, at which point he and Jack do just that, the pair of them fading quickly out of sight as they round a corner up ahead.

For his part, Vasquez risks a quick look down the side street, peering around the corner of the building he and Faraday are now standing in front of to get a better look. It's Greer, he knows it is, every nerve in his body is shouting at him that this is the case, and for some reason he winds up frozen to the spot unable to move.

"Vas?" Faraday's worried voice cuts through the strange fog that Vasquez seems to be stuck in, and he finds himself opening his eyes without realizing he'd closed them. "You alright, darlin'?"

Vasquez makes a face at this question, not entirely sure of the answer. "It's him," he says tightly. "I'm certain of it."

Faraday takes another look at the man still moving steadily away from them, and nods. "Yeah, I agree. Nobody who doesn't have somethin' to hide is up skulkin' around in full gear this early in the mornin'."

Unexpectedly, he cups the side of Vasquez's face in one hand, not caring how exposed they are and that someone could come along and see them at any time. "You didn't answer my question though. Are you alright?"

Vasquez sags briefly into his touch. "I just - memories," he says, hoping that's enough to clarify this feeling that's overtaken him. "Bad memories. He was going to kill me, and the only reason he didn't is because I caught Rask's eye and he realized he could sell me like a beast at a market."

"And he's goin' to pay for that," Faraday says seriously. "Right now. We're goin' to take him out, and those memories'll stay just that. Memories."

Inhaling deeply, Vasquez lets the air out slowly, forcing himself to regain his composure. "You're right," he acknowledges. "Let's go." He makes to push away from the building, wanting to use whatever it is that's suddenly fuelling him while he's still got it, but Faraday has other ideas.

The kiss doesn't last very long, but Faraday puts everything he has into it. His hands come to rest on Vasquez's belt, holding him in place while he licks into his mouth, leaving him once again breathless.

"We'll get him," he says as he pulls back, Vasquez following him unerringly, unable to stop himself. "He's not gettin' away with what he did."

Vasquez nods jerkily. Taking a moment to compose himself, he tugs his vest back into place where it's gotten bunched up thanks to Faraday's grip and then moves towards the street for real this time. Greer's no longer visible, but they hadn't been stopped for long so he can't have gone far.

And it turns out he hasn't - mainly because he's run face first into Jack and Red. The two of them are standing side by side, Red with his bow drawn and an arrow aimed at where Greer is frozen in front of them, while Jack watches calmly without moving.

"I remember you," Greer is saying, his arms are outstretched like he's trying show he's not a threat. "It's Mr. Horne, isn't it? I saw you in town with that Chisolm warrant officer a while back. What do you want?"

"The same thing these boys want," Jack replies, nodding at Vasquez and Faraday as they approach. "A little thing called justice."

Clearly hesitant to turn his back on Red lest he get an arrow in the back, Greer turns around slowly, his eyes widening in shock as he takes in first Faraday and then Vasquez. "You," he hisses.

"Me," Vasquez agrees, shifting on the spot so he'll be better able to reach for his guns if he needs to.

"Us," Faraday adds next to him, and Vasquez can't help but grin. "We'd like a word, Greer."

"That's Sheriff to you," Greer spits, his face colouring as they continue staring him down.

"Doubt it," Faraday says now. "I don't imagine you'll be allowed to keep your job with everythin' you've done. Hell, based on what we know, you're not goin' to be allowed to keep your head."

"You can't kill me," Greer snaps, his ire at Faraday's nerve apparently superseding any fear he might have. "Unlike the wanted criminal you have here with you, I'm a decorated Sheriff. Only one of us'll end up going to the gallows, and it won't be me."

"Well, you're half right." Coming up behind them, Sam appears with Billy, Goodnight and Oland tagging along in his wake. He eyes Greer critically, much like he would something unpleasant found on the bottom of his shoe, and proceeds to reach into his shirt pocket, hitting Vasquez with a sense of deja vu as he pulls a piece of paper free.

"Now see, we didn't come straight here from dealing with Rask," he says conversationally as he unfolds the paper, shaking it out until they can all see what it is. "We stopped to lick our wounds for a bit, rested up, and then popped by to see one of the nearby Marshals. He was awful intrigued by what we had to tell him."

Greer's face twists, his expression hunted and unpleasant all at the same time. "They were convicts," he snarls, pointing wildly at Vasquez as he speaks. "Thieves. Murderers. Why shouldn't they be put to good use before being put down? There wasn't a decent man among them!"

"On that point we'll have to agree to disagree," Sam says bluntly. "It's over, Greer. You're done."

No doubt it's an act of a desperate man, but rather than come quietly, Greer darts forward with his arms outstretched. There's no sense to his movements whatsoever though, and Jack - who's deceptively fast for a man of his size - follows in tandem. He grabs the back of Greer's coat with a heavy hand, startling the man and knocking him off balance so that he stumbles to the ground while a variety of weapons rise up to train on him.

"Don't shoot him," Faraday barks, surprising everyone around him, including Vasquez. "There ain't any need of it. He's cornered seven to one."

"The Marshal's warrant said dead or alive," Red points out. He glances dubiously at where Greer has huddled in on himself, his hands raised defensively as if that might somehow protect him from their guns. "Don't you want him dead?"

"He'll be dead soon enough," Faraday replies. Holstering his guns, he stomps forward, and grabs Greer roughly by the arm, hauling him to his feet with little difficultly. "If we send word to the Marshals they'll be here to hang him as quick as can be. Unless you want him, Vas?"

He cocks his head questioningly, only moving again once Vasquez slowly shakes his head. "Right then, come on," he tells Greer curtly, "I'm sure we can find a perfect spot in the jail for you, friend. Doesn't that sound nice?"

Greer makes a show of trying to get away, but it's clear Faraday's grip is ironclad. The struggle goes out of him in short order, especially when Faraday leans forward and murmurs something too low for the rest of them to hear. Whatever he says makes the soon to be ex-sheriff pale and shudder noticeably.

"Hurry up," Faraday says to the rest of them when they keep staring at him. "I want this one where he belongs, and I want him there now."

"Okay, guero," Vasquez says calmly. "We're right behind you, but," he adds insistently, "why don't you let someone else take him? Sam, perhaps."

"I can -" Faraday starts to protest, and Vasquez gives him a look that's meant to indicate in no short order that he doesn't like this idea. "Fine," he grunts. "Someone else can have him."

He'll never admit it, but Vasquez bites back a relieved sigh as Faraday releases Greer and both Sam and Goodnight move to take his place. Their doing so allows Vasquez to draw Faraday over to his side, effectively keeping him away from Greer and all the unpleasant memories he represents.

Vasquez gives him a quick pat on the arm once he's within reach, wishing they weren't out in the open so he could do more. "You stay with me, or us rather," he corrects as Red moves to flank Faraday on his other side. "Let the old men do the dirty work, and we will find a saloon to unwind in."

Ahead of them, Goodnight's back stiffens in a way that suggests he's two seconds away from engaging in fisticuffs in defence of his age, but he must decide to humour Vasquez because in the end he doesn't turn around, not even to protect his own honour.

Red makes a thoughtful noise, and nudges Faraday with his shoulder. "He isn't arguing," he says in that bland way of his, "so it must be true."

"You're both gonna find Billy's hairpin between your ribs tonight," Faraday mutters, but there's the faintest hint of amusement colouring his voice. Enough to make Vasquez think they're succeeding in distracting him.

"Billy likes me," he says easily. "I'm not worried."

"He likes Goody better," Faraday shoots back. His shoulders are becoming visibly looser as they bicker, though, and Vasquez is relieved as they fall into step together. 

"Billy likes Goody better, and you like me better. It all works out in the end."

Faraday gives him a long look before rolling his eyes. "You're talkin' no sense at all, Vas. Not a lick of it."

"So you're saying you don't like him best?" Red asks, and Faraday gives him a betrayed look.

"I'm feelin' very picked on right now," he mutters darkly, but Red just rolls his eyes in response.

"The job is done," he says, clapping Faraday on the back in a rare show of physical affection. "Be happy. Vasquez is."

Faraday looks over at Vasquez as if to ascertain that this is in fact the case. Vasquez meets his gaze steadily, trying to somehow transmit the relief he's feeling at having this particular sheriff be the first one they take down. 

"You good, darlin'?" Faraday asks then, bumping their shoulders together in lieu of a more open display of affection while they're walking.

"Yes," Vasquez says simply, bumping him back for added measure. "Now come. I can see the saloon up ahead, and I think we all deserve a drink."

Faraday grins and tips his hat. "Vas, you say the sweetest things."

*****

"What did you say to him?" Vasquez asks later that night. They're reclined in their bed in the hotel after a celebratory meal and a few rounds of drinks, basking in the knowledge that Greer's squirrelled away in his own jail cell, sitting under Oland's watchful eye until the Marshals arrive to deal with him.

"Hmm?" Faraday's lying on his back with one arm flung over his eyes, idly tapping one bare foot atop the mattress. "What'd you say?"

Grumbling good-naturedly, Vasquez makes a point of lifting the other man's arm away from his face before he speaks again. "I said," he begins as bright green eyes focus on him, "what did you say to him? To Greer. You whispered something to him after you said we shouldn't shoot him. He didn't care for whatever it was."

"No, I don't imagine he did," Faraday admits. Stretching out his hand, he lets his fingers trail along Vasquez's side, moving steadily upwards as he waits. "You really want to know?"

"Sí," Vasquez replies. "Por favor."

Faraday's fingers still briefly before resuming their motion. "I told him he'd get to see how you felt, waitin' in a jail cell to die all because someone else decided your life wasn't yours to keep. I reckon that's a far worse way to go out than a nice, quick bullet."

Vasquez stares at him, something odd stirring in his gut. "That was cruel, Joshua."

Now Faraday shrugs. Whatever else might plague him; it doesn't appear as if he'll lose any sleep over Greer's pain. "It wasn't anythin' compared to what he did to you, how he made you feel. Trapped in a hellhole to die with no hope of gettin' out. I'd make him hurt a thousand times over for that if I could."

"Eh, I had hope," Vasquez points out, nipping playfully at Faraday's fingers when they trail too close to his jaw. "I figured you would come if you knew to look."

Faraday snorts. "'Course I would, y’crazy Texican. That's what you do when you love somebody."

His fingers still abruptly, and for his part Vasquez gapes down at him, an expression of shock no doubt gracing his features just like the one on Faraday's own. 

Neither of them says anything for a long moment. They sit silently with the words echoing between them, until finally Faraday barks out a harsh laugh. "Oh what the hell," he says roughly, "it's not like it wasn't obvious, right?"

He sounds honestly worried about this last bit, and Vasquez grabs for his hand where he's drawn it slightly back out of reach. "Sí, mi amor," he says as he places a kiss dead centre in the middle of Faraday's palm. "I knew, I promise. How could I not with everything you've done since Huron Valley?"

"Well ... good," Faraday says, his cheeks tinged faintly pink no matter how nonchalant he manages to sound. "Good."

"Mhm. Yes, it's good. A very good thing," Vasquez tells him, "but not a surprise. You're just better with actions than you are with words."

"I am fantastic with words, thank you very much," Faraday shoots back. "There ain't nothin' I can't talk my way out of."

Vasquez laughs, unable to help himself, and sinks down into the bedding so they're lying side by side. "First, that is not true at all, you are a horrible liar, querido. Second, you talk fast when you are in trouble, but with feelings you say very little."

"Yeah, well, we can't all go around spittin' out what's goin' on in our heads at any given time, muchacho," he grumbles, face flushing even hotter. "Otherwise no one'd ever get anythin' done."

Vasquez assumes that's a reference to the fact that he's been saying the words in both English and Spanish for quite some time now, but he lets it slide. "You are doing a service, I see."

"Oh fuck off," Faraday says, but he's laughing, his eyes crinkling in the corners the way they do when he's genuinely happy. "You keep that up and I'm goin' to start questionin' why I feel the way I do."

"No, you won't," Vasquez says confidently. 

Faraday's answering smile when it comes is warm, lacking most of its usual cockiness. "No, I won't."


End file.
